I didn't chase her —because what was there to say, anyway?— and then I did. Because she was outside walking alone in the rain, and as much as I wanted to hate her guts, the thought of something happening to her made my stomach churn.
By the time I caught up with her in my car a few minutes later, she was five blocks away and soaked to the skin. I leaned over and pushed open the passenger’s side door and called her name until she stopped and looked my way.
“Get in.”
I half expected her to fight me because that was all we seemed capable of doing, but she climbed in without hesitation, taking the towel I handed her with a soft “thank you.”
I wanted to tell her that I was just there to make sure she got home safe. That I didn’t want to talk about anything and I sure as fuck didn’t want to listen, but she never gave me a chance. She just started talking.
"When I was thirteen, my mother went to jail one last time. She never came out. Died five years ago of ovarian cancer after four years in prison for drug trafficking. She'd gone from hooker to drug mule, and got caught her first time moving product.”
Her voice was monotone, which made it all the harder to listen to. I kept my eyes pinned on the road and willed myself not to picture Kayla as a little girl, living through that. Forcing myself not to draw comparisons from my past to hers or empathize with how hard it must have been for her to lose her mother at such a young age.
Having her in my life was a mistake and had been from the beginning. She was Mickey Flynn’s daughter. The daughter of the man who had made my family’s life a living hell these past few months. Nothing she said now changed that.
“There was no one at home to care for me,” she continued, staring blankly out the windshield as she spoke. “I didn't know who my real father was other than that he'd been a john, and the state called my aunt to take me. She came from Wisconsin and picked me up in her station wagon. Her husband was a preacher at their local church and they had two little boys.”
She shifted restlessly in the seat and clutched the towel to her chest. “It was okay at first. I liked the space. The quiet. The cows. But that summer, I hit puberty. The country air and the three squares a day…I stopped looking like a coat hanger and suddenly Uncle Cal start ed paying attention to me.”
My hands had started to shake and I gripped the wheel tighter. I didn't want to hear the rest. I wanted to pull over and abandon the fucking car before she said the words.
"He wasn't mean before that, just...uninterested. Once I got tits, though, he was very interested.” She let out a humorless, harsh laugh. “So interested that Aunt Deedee started to notice, making little comments here and there. I didn't think all that much of it, because whatever she said to me, she was still providing for me more than my mother ever had and I was grateful. But one night that summer, it all came to a head. I was in the barn feeding the horses he came out to call me in for supper. Aunt Deedee was at bible study, but she'd left a casserole in the oven."
She shook her head slowly and shrugged.
"Shepherd’s pie. I don't know why I remember that so well. I can still smell it. When he led me inside I realized that my cousins weren't at the table. He’d sent them to a friend’s house.” She paused and pursed her lips together before pressing on. “He...touched me. Pushed his body against mine. He smelled sickly sweet...like beeswax candles and butterscotch. When he stuck his tongue into my mouth, I gagged. He slapped me hard in the face and told me that he loved me, and I was a wicked little slut for making him feel these things. If I wanted him to forgive me, I had to,” she stopped and swallowed hard, "kiss it and make it better. He made me take my clothes off and stand in front of him, and then he put my hand on his…on it. I don’t know what happened that night, but the gods were looking out for me, because my Aunt came home early. She found me in the kitchen with my underwear around my ankles.”
She cleared her throat and laid the towel on her lap like a blanket before she turned to face me. I tried to keep the emotion from my face. I’d never been so close to the edge of reason as I was at that moment. I wanted to sell my car, buy a plane ticket and murder the motherfucker. Instead, I kept driving and listening.
“She was furious, and kept me locked in my room until Mickey showed up a week later. I don't know the details, but I saw him hand my Aunt a briefcase. She signed some papers and we were off. I was sure things were only going to get worse for me. That I could expect more of the same. I was wrong. Mickey promised me he'd never let anyone touch me again that way, and he kept his promise. I couldn't stay at his house, he had a young new wife who wasn't keen on the idea of the daughter of a whore living there, but he set me up with a sweet apartment and a nanny of sorts. Came to visit, bought me birthday gifts.”